Of Adulation
by Always-Striving
Summary: Once upon a time in a far away land, Father knew best. But that was a long time ago. Character study.


My muse apparently loves exploring characters, worlds, philosophies, societal differences, and circumstances, but hates thinking of any actual plots. I blame my history/English class.

This is my first Frozen story - enjoy!

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She likes to take walks through the eastern palace gallery - the one on the top floor of the castle. The paintings hanging there are sparse and small compared to the ones in the wide room that Anna likes to spend her time in, and much less people have visited it since the gates reopened. But Elsa doesn't mind. After years of being by herself, she can't help but feel a certain comfort and security in solitude and likes to be alone sometimes to catch a break (unlike Anna who revels in the excitement. Elsa finds an easy smile spreading on her face as she imagines her sister bubbling away, surrounded by people, as always).

One of her favorite works here is a small, square oil painting tucked away in a quiet corner near the windows. It's of her parents right after their engagement. They're sitting together in the garden, bathed in brilliant sunshine on one of the small, stone benches next to the shimmering brook. They're young and blissfully innocent. Her father is wearing a dark red uniform, glittering with medals with a gold, braided cord looped over his shoulder. Her mother is wearing a lavender gown, cuffed with much lace, a dark lily broach pinned to her breast. Their hands are intertwined.l

Elsa has seen and studied this portrait many times (she knows it's childish, but sometimes she likes to pretend that she can talk to them through the portrait, and tell them about everything that's changed since she became Queen). She knows every detail of it: the sparkling, oval clip pinning up Mama's dark bun, the way Papa's cuff shines just so in the sunlight, the tiny wildflowers at their feet. All of it.

Sometimes, she likes to take the painting down for a moment and sink into one of the gallery's soft, cushioned stools, daydreaming about sweet memories. When she was little, before the magic had gotten too strong, they used to take family picnics in that garden. She and Anna would catch butterflies and press flowers the way Mama had taught them to, and they used to wade in the freezing brook and get into splash fights.

_"Come on, Elsa! Your mother brought chocolate!"_

She adored her papa. He was a good king. Firm, yes, but kind and fair to everyone. Their people loved him. He played with her a lot, especially after the troll visit, since Anna couldn't anymore. He used to play marbles with her, and chess. And when she was really little, he used to hum and dance with her around the room, though the most she ever did was stand on his shoes. He used to help her with geometry and encouraged her to read, bringing her mound after mound of books. Papa was very kind.

She spent much more time with Papa than with Mama. Mama - wonderful, effervescent Mama - spent more time with her sister, which had been for the best. Papa used to explain to her that Anna needed needed someone to play with too, and that someone was their mother -

_"Elsa, what have you done? This is getting out of hand!"_

- so Mama had to stay safe...

Elsa is on one of those walks today. She stares down at her hands, and at the portrait they're holding. "Safe," she mutters to herself, eyes grazing over Papa's happy face as they have so many times before. "Safe."

_"She can learn to control it, I'm sure. Till then, we'll lock the gates, we'll reduce the staff, limit her contact with people, and keep her powers hidden from everyone. Including Anna."_

When she sees the frost, she gasps and fumbles so much she nearly drops the painting. A dreadful, familiar fear washes over her. But why? Why are her eyes stinging with bitter tears? Elsa ignores this and decides to rush over and set the frame in its proper place instead, wiping her eyes furiously with her glistening sleeve. She takes a deep breath, and hates how instinctively it comes: _Calm yourself. Control yourself. Conceal, don't feel._

It's summer now. She can hear Anna and Olaf out there somewhere, their laughter riding by the wind. But it's too distant. The memories plaguing her mind block out almost everything, but everything is playing out before her eyes all the same. Everything she wishes she could forget.

_"No, listen to me, Elsa. You can't just play with your powers anymore!" She's so scared - she's never seen Papa get_ _like this. Not ever. He grips her shoulders and pulls her towards him, but she can't bring herself to look into his eyes. "You know what happened when you were playing with Anna. You can't let that happen again. Elsa, you must learn to control it!" She sniffles. "Elsa!"_

_"I'm sorry, Papa."_

Papa was very strict. He wanted her to be a good queen when her time came, so he was often present when she had lessons and always present when she did homework. Very early on, Elsa learned one crucial thing: what her papa said, her papa meant. He never went back on his word. He had high standards for her - nothing less than an A was ever acceptable to him, and even when she cried and begged for just a few minutes out, just a few teeny, weeny, short minutes - he wouldn't know she'd even left at all! He said no. He always said no.

She thinks back to that one time...that one time when she _did_ go out. It was just after Anna's tenth birthday, but according to Mama, it hadn't been a very special day. _Everyone_ knew that it had been her dearest wish in the world to have a ball to celebrate, but that wish hadn't come true. Elsa hadn't spoken to her sister - hadn't _seen_ her - in so long, and she just wanted to do something nice for her and give her something she might wear to a ball someday... Just once. So she snuck out of her room that night and left her gift at the door. A dark green, velvet choker with a pearl pendant. _Happy birthday! E_

Papa found out about it the next day. Anna had told Mama, and Mama had told him. He came in that day as Elsa was having breakfast - much earlier than usual ("I told you not to leave your room." He said slowly. "I told you there would be consequences.")...

Elsa bites down hard on her lip and the tears blur over, tumbling down her cheeks. Her heart throbs.

Anna came by a few days later. "Do you wanna build a snowman?" She asked by way of greeting. "Or...ride our bike around the halls? I think some company is overdue - I've started talking to the pictures on the walls! Isn't that funny? Hey, that rhymes!"

Elsa sighs. She wanted to, she really, really did. But she couldn't. She _had_ to protect her sister, and she couldn't control it. And after Papa had gotten so upset with her, she was berating herself for doing something so reckless and foolish. She _knew_ how dangerous her powers were, she _knew_ she had to stay in! Papa was right: if she really wanted to give Anna her present, she should have just given it to him so he could deliver it safely. These were the awful thoughts that had swirled inside her head, and she had been so angry and ashamed of herself afterwards that frost had practically spiked from the wall.

_"I'm scared! It's getting stronger!"_

_"Getting upset only makes it worse. Calm down!"_

_"No! Don't touch me! Please. I don't wanna hurt you..."_

Her heart only aches more as their helpless expressions drift back into her memory.

She sniffles a bit and wipes at the tears again, turning away from the painting and stalking out of the gallery. The fabric of her dress rustles coolly against her legs and her long braid swishes left and right. Tears are still crawling down her face and her eyes are probably rimmed scarlet, but for once, Elsa doesn't care how she looks. A loud, crunching, crackling sound shadows from behind, and the temperature dips as she dimly registers the ice that's suddenly gleaming across the floor. She ignores the servants' curious looks and pays no heed to their soft questions. Eventually, she arrives at the base of the great spiral staircase in the main hall, and clenches hard on the dark banister.

She stares up at her father's portrait defiantly. She wants to tear it off the wall and smash it in her rage. She wants to rip it into so many pieces that his face will be unrecognizable. She wants to scream out all her sorrows and frustrations, all the things she kept hidden away for all these years because of _him._

She wants to do all those things, but she can't. Thinking back to his face that day, so sad, so mournful as her mother moved to rest a hand on his back... The only thing she _can_ do is stare at his portrait - him and his crown and his ceremonial robes, a shaggy dog at his feet - tears streaming down her face.

"You could have done more." She says quietly, voice shaking with all her hurt and bereavement. "You could have gone back to the trolls. You could have backed down. You could have asked me what _I_ wanted...

"...so why can't I hate you?"

* * *

I'm proud of myself. Sure, I'll come back to this on a few months and hate it, but it's the first non-Avatar fanfic I've come up with in a VERY long time, so I'll give myself a nice pat on the back.

Tell me if I have any spelling/grammar mistakes. I'm sure there are many.

Please review!


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